Broken Vow
by ForeverRumbelle
Summary: Belle has been gone four days on a trip that was only to last half a day. Rumple begins to realize what he has lost is more then just a maid, but a piece of him. Will the insecurities the two of them have bring them closer together, or tear them farther apart?


**I do not own any of the Once Upon a Time Characters.**

Broken Vow

He knew that she could never love him. Not a beast, a monster, the devils advocate. He slowly turns the wheel, listening to it creak as the hay spins through it with ease, collecting in little piles to the side. His fingers are wet from the tears that had been falling for days. He had sent her out, out of the castle into the night to 'fetch him some hay.' He knew that she may never return, but knowing is different then reality. Everyone knows bad things will happen, it is when the bad things are happening that they break.

Belle is gone.

Rumpelstiltskin turns the wheel again, trying to forget her sky blue eyes, her locks of hair, the way he thought her eyes lit up when he walked into the room. _You are a light in an ocean of darkness,_ he had told her once. It was never about how dirty his castle was, how the dust collected and the spiders made their webs in every corner. It was about being alone. He thought they had a relationship; she had promised him forever. _Doesn't that sound like a wedding vow?_ His skull is filled with piercing memories that shout their way through his pain.

"SHUT UP!" he yells, standing and knocking down his wheel. "SHUT UP! SHE SAID SHE LOVED ME!"

 _Nobody can love you, Rumpelstiltskin. People say a lot of things._ He walks over to the window where raindrops glide down into the tiles below. People do say a lot of things.

It had been four days. Four days since she left on a trip that should take half a day, especially with her chestnut mare he had brought home one day after a deal. He was going to kill it for a potion. It became hers when she had begged that he spare its life. She had cried for it . . .an animal. When he looked behind him at the creature, and had seen the way it looked at him, ready to accept its fate willingly – when he saw that if he held a knife to its chest, ready to stab it that it wouldn't have even tried to get away, it reminded him of Belle. She accepted a deal that she knew nothing about and was led to his castle, innocent and without any preconceptions of him. _I guess you can care for the filthy creature, dearie, but don't expect me to be this gracious again._ Really in his head he was saying, _Please, keep him, it's the least I can do for you, I don't even deserve you._ She had thanked him, over and over. Not a day went by that she didn't ride it, and feed it and water it. The horse was as spoiled as he was. What had she named it? Cinnamon – of course she would pick such an innocent name.

Bell is gone.

All he can muster is a muffled cry. For these four days he had done nothing but spin and pace, and stare uselessly out of the window as if she would actually return. Gaston was her true love, she would search for him until she realized that he was the rose he had given her that day, and then she would hate him all the more.

He had forgotten how quiet the castle was without her heels clicking across his wooden floor, and how musty it was without her perfume filling every room. Her scent had faded into nothingness now. All he could smell was rain and mold, and the dank scent of his dark magic that would send any other person reeling. It didn't send Belle reeling, in fact, he wondered if she could even smell it. He doubted it. Not many people can unless they have magic themselves.

Two books sit on the upturned couch on the other side of the room. One is a cooking book, he wondered why she needed it as her cooking was out of this world, and the other is Romeo and Juliet. _You are such a delusional girl, Belle, thinking that love works that well._

 _Well doesn't it?_ She asked one day instead of ignoring him or frowning. She continued with a statement that he would never forget. _True love runs deepest where the world says it's impossible, Rumple._

 _What, dearie? You think I . . I_ He couldn't finish the question. It was too hard at the time, and it was another three months until he admitted that he loved her. He thought that she had never heard anything more wonderful in her life when she threw herself in his arms, repeating the words to him. It was the only time he told her but actions speak louder then words.

He wipes more tears from his tired eyes, and continues to stare at the empty road before him. His heart is now empty. Without Belle, there is nothing to live for, nothing to strive for, nobody to play little tricks on, nobody to give laughter to. He was never overly kind to her though. They had their days but as he looks back, he remembers how many nights he had heard her crying in the back of the library, a place that she didn't know he could hear her.

"No," he whispers. "No."

 _Nobody can love you, Rumpelstiltskin. Why did you give in to something so impossible? You don't rven know what it takes to be in love._

He covers his face in his hands. "Belle," he whispers. "Please come back. Please come back I promise that I will do better, I promise that I will give you Gaston, anyone, anything you want just come back, just once. Please. I beg you." He was begging to air, because not only him, but the entire dark prison he lived in knew that she would never come back.

She had shared a poem with him once. He had never forgotten it, and whenever it came to mind, he could hear the way she read it. He remembered her soft voice, just loud enough that he could hear her but not so loud that he didn't have to try.

 _The piano keys of life tend to break spirits with sad songs,_

 _Heartbreak, Doom, Impossible eternities that no one can escape._

 _So I write this poem, the impossible poem that many will mistake for a passage._

 _Passages are for books, thick books with princes and princesses,_

 _Love, Romance, Things left spoken and unspoken._

 _Passages are normal._

 _Poetry is like life, sometimes sad, sometimes happy._

 _What makes a poem a poem, or a life a life, is the depth._

 _How can depth be found?  
In character._

 _How can character be found?  
In Trail. Yes, trail is the answer to a poets song,_

 _For the deepest of hearts lay within this sorrowful place._

 _So I write this poem, not a sad poem, or a happy poem, but a real poem._

 _An open door waiting to be stepped out of,_

 _Not by the reader,_

 _But by the soul._

He knew why she read it to him. He knew, deep down, that she was trying to tell him that he had what the writer said, _character,_ and that he just needed to step through the next door, a door like her, a door that she opened wide and invited the beast into. He slammed the door in her face, even as she kept a firm hold on the handle.

He can apologize to the empty road in front of him now, the closed door that she locked. He knew better then to treat her like he did. The dark one in the back of his skull taught him otherwise though, taught him to go out of his way to hurt her, to bring her on trips just to frighten her and force her to witness his darkness as he turned people into wild animals and killed them, tore apart peoples houses, caught cities on fire after kingdoms broke their deals. He even strangled a dog once, just for the heck of it because it tried to bite him.

 _It's too late now, Rumple. You can feel sorry for yourself all day but it isn't going to change the fact that she hates you, and should. Look at yourself, beast. The best your ever going to get is an old hag._

Something taps his shoulder and he growls, looking behind him to see a small ball of light. Thunder rumbles as if sensing his anger at being disturbed.

"What is it?" he growls. "What do you want from me?"

"You miss her." Three words that force him to try to place his walls back where they should be, but if the disheveled way he looks doesn't turn the ball of light off enough, then placing his tumbling walls up aren't going to help either.

"What are you?" he asks harshly.

"What I am doesn't concern you, Rumpelstiltskin." Thunder rumbles again. "I am of an ecstasy that you cannot understand."

"Why are you here?"

"Because there is still light in you."

"No there isn't!" He screams at the creature. "There is no light in me!" The dark one screams even louder as voices fill the back of his skull. "There is no light, you vile creature, get out!" He leans on the window and stares at the raindrops. He tries to summon his magic but his body is drained, there is no way he can fight it. He looks behind him one last time to see it fading.

"Love never fails," it breathes. Later, he would remember the little ball of light in those dark moments of his life. It reminded him of the angels he had heard of, which he didn't mind so much as they were truly good, unlike fairies who still aimed to benefit themselves. He had never rejected them, besides this one time.

He leans back against the window and sees a shadow limber across the stones. He sees a shadow, what the – it stumbles and something larger comes out from behind it. A horse. A cloak covers the face of his visitor who trudges towards his castle. Something glows behind him and he turns, wide eyed.

"Go get her, Rumpelstiltskin. Go, now, before it is too late." _Belle._ He turns and the light has disappeared again. "Go!" he hears again. He looks back out the window and sees her continuing towards his door. How could he go? Just go? Why did she come back? She trips and he sees the horse nuzzle her a bit as she grabs onto his neck for strength to stand. _Belle, it's her. She really came back!_

He dashes down the stairs and through the hallways, ignoring the lights and stumbling over things he had smashed on the floor. How could it be her? Is his mind playing tricks? _Belle,_ his brain repeats over and over. _Belle._

He bursts through the doors, tears running down his face that he blamed on the rain. He runs down the stone road, past gates and splashing in deep mud puddles that got in his way. He sees her look up as he approaches and nearly crashes into her feeble body in excitement, lifting her into the air instead and spinning her in a circle. She laughs, weakly, and he comes back to his senses. What is he doing?

"Rumple?" she asks quietly. "Is it really you?" He takes a few steps back, embarrassed slightly by his behavior and trying to hold back the emotions that pulse through him.

"Who else would it be, dearie?" he says nonchalantly. She shakes her head and he can see her smile through the rain. "Why were you gone so long?" She shivers and he remembers that they are currently standing in the rain, and that she had probably been in the rain for the past three or so days. With a flick of his wrist her horse is in the barn, watered and fed and the two of them are standing by a fire in the great hall. She takes off her cloak and hangs it by the fire.

"Cinnamon?" she barely whispers. "Is he alright?" He lays out a clean dress for her with undergarments underneath. She was always embarrassed when he did that but at the moment she was going to freeze if she didn't change soon.

"Your horse is fine, dearie," he responds dryly. "Now get dressed." She looks at him, confused. It made sense – who wouldn't be confused if their master spun them in a circle when they first came and then frowned at them afterward. He waves her aside and exits the room so that she could change.

By the time Belle is finished drying off and changing, the storm is nearly over, and although the rain continues to drip off the windows there is a noticeable change in mood. He comes into the room, and stares at her. She looks at him, looks down, and tries to make eye contact again.

"What took you so long?"

"Well," she stumbles.

"What!" he yells. "Did you find someone? Did you go to the local whore house to party with the malicious people you call your friends?" Her expression changes and she stares at him, hurt that he would assume such a thing. "What is it, girl! Spit it out!" She sits on the couch and places her face in her hands. He storms up to her and she looks up at him, saying nothing. "Belle, where in the world have you been? And no hay? What kind of maid does that?"

"Rumple," she says softly. "I promise, I am alright. Nobody hurt me, I didn't go to the local whore house and I continue to stand untouched to this day – emotionally and physically by anyone but you."

"I never touched you!" he yells.

"We kissed once." He cannot argue with that and paces by the fire, mumbling to himself all the things he had said when she was gone, wondering what kind of selfish creature would put him through that much pain. He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to see her staring at him. "Rumple, it's okay. I promise, I am alright. Please, it worries me that you would fret so horribly."

"Belle," he says quietly. She runs her fingers through his curly hair. He feels her pulling him towards her and gives in, allowing her to embrace him as he does her, ever so tightly. It's as if if he loosens his grip on her for a second, she will disappear into thin air before his eyes. "I thought you had-" he fails to finish as she places a finger on his lips. He stares into her patient eyes . . . how could she be so long-suffering for a monster like him?

"No, Rumple. I could never love another, and it doesn't matter how many times you deny it, you can be and are loved. One can only have one true love in their life . . . I have learned that much." She begins to walk away. "Tea?" she asks. He shakes his head stiffly and she points to the couch. "Wait there." He does, wondering how after traveling for so long she could possibly have the energy to make tea. She brings it out and he takes a sip, satisfied. She sits oddly close to him and he tries to scoot away. She stops him when she places her hand on his knee. "Unless I smell like a wet dog please don't treat me like one . . . not after I haven't seen you for four days."

"A wet dog? Dearie, I think lavender and roses suite you much better."

"Thank you," she says quietly. He stares at her, confusion written over his features. "I mean, for a complement that is quite well thought out."

"Wasn't a complement, dearie, simply a statement."

"Well then, thank you for the kind statement." Realizing he isn't going to win this battle he gives up, and before he realizes it his arm is around her waist and her head is laying softly on his shoulder. The dark one screams in the back of his head, begging him to stop. He refuses, and decides that he will allow himself to love her, even if just for tonight.

"Did you miss me?" she asks. He laughs a bit and looks down.

"Belle, things are quiet here without you, and that alone can drive a man mad."

"Ah, you see?" she says, sitting up and poking his chest. "I was right! You are a man. Seems what I do must affect you somewhat."

"What you do drives me mad just as much as what you don't do."

"What do I not do?"

"Run away, scream in terror, ignore me, make crude comments about my past and present and last but not least, listen to the most recent gossip about my dealing."

"Mmmm," she hums, lifting her hand and turning his face towards her. She stares at him, and runs her fingers down his arms, and across his chest, as if observing him intently. He shuts his eyes and leans into her innocent touch. "I see nothing to run away from, nothing to scream at and nothing but a beautiful body that I have come to love, and even miss at times." She lifts her hand into his hair. "And I see a man, a man who has many false tales that hurt him deeply, I see a man of character, someone who loves fiercely and never lets go. And truly, if you wish tear every wall down that I have held in my own heart," she says, a lump forming in her throat. He opens his eyes and stares into her deep blue ones. "Every single wall I have ever put up, I see someone I don't deserve. Someone who deserves a person who was more intelligent, who knew how to cook for him, and properly keep a house. Someone who could produce heirs easier then I, someone who was thinner, and knew how to be a proper lady when it came to what habits would make your life easier to live. Someone who could live forever with you and someone who understood curses, and magic, and other realms and would be able to understand everything you go through every day just to step out of bed in the morning. Someone who is beautiful, like in my books when I read about mermaids and when I was younger, would look out in the ballroom and see the other princesses with fair skin and light hair, and normal, brown eyes instead of eyes that can make one look possessed." By now, tears are falling down her face and he stares at her, in awe that she would ever reveal these feelings to him. Did she even know how beautiful she was to him? She goes to continue and he places a finger on her lips. She doesn't flinch at the touch, and he opens his hand to cup her cheek and run his thumb against her temple.

"Come with me," he says quietly. He notices his voice is deeper and realizes that the dark one has left him for the moment, that her love for him has shattered its grip. She opens her eyes.

"Why? So that you can make fun of me?" He shakes his head and slowly removes his hand, taking hers and lifting her to stand with him. She stares at the ground. He comes behind her and places a hand on each of her shoulders, guiding her to a mirror he had covered in the far corner of the room. With a flick of his wrist the cover vanishes and she steps back, jerking her head to the side to prevent looking at herself. "Look," he whispers in her ear. She shakes her head and her shoulders heave as a sob escapes her lips. "Belle, my dear, please look in the mirror."

"I have done this," she cries. "I have done this with Gaston and his friends. I remember it, how they poked fun of me and showed me the 'real women' of the world. Women I could only ever dream of being." With a flick of his wrist the cloth is back on the mirror, and he slowly spins her around to face him. He takes his thumbs and wipes away her tears before walking her up the steps to his room, where a more beautiful mirror sits across from the fireplace. It too, is covered with a thick cloth, and she stops before entering.

"Rumpelstiltskin, this is your room," she says. "You told me I was never to enter."

"Well from now on, if you ever need me, feel free to come enter at your own will." He cups her face and turns it towards him. "Now, you are going to do as I say, and you will do it because I love you." He leans in and kisses her forehead softly. He can tell that she is shaken up by his behavior, not in a bad way but in a confused way. He had never displayed this much love for her, it's as if being gone is the only thing that would allow the two of them to be honest with each other. He guides her into the room slowly, and he can feel her shaking with fear. Not afraid of him, but dreading whatever he was going to force her to do. "Belle," he says softly. She turns. "Do you trust me? Do you think me an honest man?" He stutters over the word man but she doesn't seem to notice much. She shakes her head, unable to speak as she tries to keep control of her tightly knitted emotions. "Alright," he responds quietly. "Alright, dear." He goes behind her and guides her back to the mirror in his room, shutting the door behind him and closing the drapes. The lights dim and with a flick of his wrist, the drape covering the mirror drops. She looks away again. "Ah, ah, ah," he scolds quietly. "Don't you even try that." He lifts her chin with his finger and she looks in the mirror, a pained expression on her face. "Now, where should I start." He looks her up and down, something he did often when she was turned the other way but never when she was looking at him. He lifts his hands and takes the clip out of her hair so that it falls on her shoulders. She looks away as he combs through it lightly with his fingers. He lifts her face again and looks into the mirror behind her. "Now, dearest, look into my eyes, – no, my eyes," he says, guiding her chin with his fingers. He can see that she is ready to break down, that at any moment she could begin to sob. He has her look at him until he can feel her beginning to relax. "Now," he begins. He places his hands gently on her shoulders, and traces her figure over her dress down to her thighs. He runs his fingers through her hair before bringing his fingers through hers. "Still the girl I fell in love with," he says quietly. "Look at yourself, Belle." He holds her hand out over his palm closer to the mirror. "Your hands are so soft," he whispers, running his fingers over her palm. "So well trimmed, fit for a princess, which is exactly what you are . . .not a maid, no, I only call you that. But truly, you are a princess. And your eyes," he says, looking into them, "Your eyes are like an ocean, and your voice as beautiful as the waves that lap over the sandy beach, never harsh, always ready for the time to speak, and always quiet when a day calls for peace. And your skin," he says, rubbing his fingers over her cheek and down her neck, "Your skin is like the sun, bright and beautiful, not pale and sickly like the other women's but filled with love, and patience and everything I could ever ask for." He brings his fingers through her hair one last time, placing it to the side. "Your hair is like the chestnuts in the fall, not a dark, hideous brown like mud but as the nuts that fall from the branches of trees that the creatures of the land look forward to." He lifts her chin again and cups her breasts in his hands gently, holding her close to his chest as she places her hands over his. "You have the figure of a woman, with breasts and hips," he brings his hands down, "And thighs that tell me that you are healthy. You don't look like a stick, no, but sticks snap. I need a branch that I can hold onto, not a twig to snap at ever last whim. Someone I can hold without fearing she will break under my grip." He brings his finger to her lips and traces them. "And your lips are full, and healthy, as every woman's lips should be." He comes behind her again and holds her shoulders as she looks at herself, quiet now, not about to cry and not shaking. "Belle, you are a beautiful woman, both inside the depths of your everlasting heart and on the outside, walking with grace and beauty. You cloth yourself in goodness, and with a willing heart to serve others. You fill your head with the knowledge of books, reading things that I struggle to understand with ease. Listening to your voice is like listening to the birds sing in the morning, both refreshing and calming." He cups her cheek in his hand and allows her to face him, recovering the mirror. "When you question who you are, when you awake thinking you are someone your not, when you wonder if you are worth it remember this moment, Belle. Remember what I have told you, and if anyone ever tells you that you aren't worth it, and are anything but magnificent and beautiful as the shining stars then tell them what I have told you."

She smiles a bit, and gently pulls him towards her, locking lips, tongues, and hearts with the man she loves.

"You know you are beautiful too," she whispers as he holds her by the fire. He inhales deeply, her scent wonderfully sweet.

"With you by my side, dear, I will have no choice but to shine." She moans softly at his gentle caresses and closes her eyes as she lays her head on his chest.

"I will never look at myself the same you know," she whispers. "Now I see someone I never thought existed. Now I see something worth living for." He smiles and kisses her gently, matching his grin with hers as they continue by the firelight. She reaches across the sofa and he pulls harder on her, not wishing to end the moment and pressing their lips together. "Rumple," she giggles. "Rumple, just hold on." He stops for a moment and she takes a deep breath. She takes his hand with one and drops something into it, not allowing him to see what it is before closing his fingers tightly together. "Rum, I didn't go get hay. I wasn't even in the town where you sent me, I went away, somewhere where I remembered hearing about what I just placed in your palm. I didn't want to get your hopes up, which is why I waited to go until today." Her eyes sparkle with unshed tears. "You may not think I notice but I do. This is the least I could do for you, Rumple, for the anniversary of you and your precious son Bae." His eyes soften at the mention of his son and he kisses her as they lay back down on the couch, breathing softly as she lays her head on his chest and shuts her eyes. "Open your palm, Rumple." He does, and is speechless when he sees what glows in the center. A single bean, all alone and thriving, the bean he needed to get to the realm in which he sent his son. He closes his palm and tries to calm his racing heart.

"You found one, Belle, you found it. Now I can find my son." She sleepily smiles as the bean disappears in a cloud of purple smoke, hidden with his knife. She lifts her hand and wraps a ringlet of his hair around her finger.

"Rum, I have only one request – that you take me with you." He slowly sits up and turns her around so that she is under him, and cradled softly in his arms as they kiss, deeply, with untold passion.

"How could I not," he mumbles through breaths. "How could I not, my precious Belle." Never again would a night more beautiful fall upon the dark castle, a night where stars shined above and moans and silent pleas fill the halls and rooms with their music, where sweet words of nothingness are witnessed by the crackle of a fire and true love marks its place on the puzzle pieces of two shattered hearts. It is said to this day that the music of her voice can be heard from miles away, and an impish giggle can be heard through the streams. It was a beautiful night.

 **Hey! Thank you so much for reading my story - it was so much fun to write! Any thoughts or comments are greatly appreciated! Love you all!**


End file.
